


Shadows and Light

by knotted_rose



Category: Angel: the Series RPF, Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPF
Genre: Drug Addiction, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knotted_rose/pseuds/knotted_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now's the time of night that Nicky lives for, when the world has gone quiet with sleep, and the air is clear of noise and he feels like he can finally breathe. Suck in deep lungfulls of peace on the front porch, enough to get him through the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows and Light

**Author's Note:**

> Starts sometime during shooting for season 7 BtVS, ends after the end of season 5 AtS. This means you'll see Nick both pre- and post-rehab.
> 
> The lyrics are from a song called "Dolphin's Lullaby." It's on the first Firefall album, titled "Firefall" - they're an 80s band.
> 
> Originally posted anonymously (as the RPF fairy) for Rubywisp, back in September, 2004.

Now's the time of night that Nicky lives for, when the world has gone quiet with sleep, and the air is clear of noise and he feels like he can finally breathe. Suck in deep lungfulls of peace on the front porch, enough to get him through the next day. He tells Kelly and Tressa he's meditating, it's part of his treatment.

It's his only escape from the noise and want and fucking _need_ that still jangles under his skin. They don't know how close the abyss still is, how eagerly it searches for him, wanting to stare him in the eye again.

He doesn't remember when he first noticed the white-haired stranger, glistening under the haloed streetlamps, when he first smelled the clove smoke and felt the ghostlike presence. Tendrils of anger claw through him when he does though, as he imagines this other drinking in his despair, polluting his space.

But his stalker stays aloof, apart, and Nicky grows to feel a strange solidarity with him, the pair of them, soaking in the night. Finding that path leading from the clutching tendrils of the day, into the singular night.

One time Nicky can't let go of his troubles, and instead of sitting, ends up muttering and stalking up and down on the porch. His companion can't hear him, so Nicky doesn't watch what he says. Only after he's run out of steam does he catch the odd tune that's half-whispered, half-sung, down on the street. He can't quite make it out, it comes and goes, pulsing on the breeze. It pets his frayed nerves and he manages to sit and close his eyes and just breathe, the slight scent of cloves hovering near by.

When he opens his eyes again, his watcher's gone.

#

The first time it happens, it's an accident.

James is at a party that his agent insisted that he goes to, full of people he doesn't know, who are all looking for a piece of him. He navigates the waters without losing a pound of flesh, playing the innocent that they never expect, naïve about what they want and so slipping through their nets.

He stands it as long as he can before he explains to his host that he needs a break, and he dives into the darkness outside.

It's later than he realized, the streets are quiet and empty. James finds himself walking, the night sloughing away the ghosted feel of the others' hands that had grabbed at him. The solitude sings to him, clears a space in his head, lets him breathe.

Movement up on the porch of one of the houses startles him into the shadows. When he looks, he sees it's Nicky. He'd never been to Nicky and Tressa's place, so had no idea where he lived.

Nicky stills after just a moment, gulping deep breaths of air. James finds he's copying him, synchronous and simpatico. Well, when he's not sucking down on one of the clove cigarettes he finds he still craves.

After a time, Nicky seems to find what he needs, and goes back in the house.

But James . . . doesn't.

He's back the next night. And the night after that. Breathing with Nicky. Just, being, for a while. He hears the rumors--Nicky and his new age treatments that never seem to stick. So he keeps coming back. Hoping that maybe this time, if there's someone else there, he can find that spot that's open, where he can stand.

He comes every night, until the band is about to go on tour. James can't be there for a while. Nicky seems to already know, because he's agitated and restless and doesn't sit but paces.

So James sings modern lullabies to him:

 _Singing dolphins over the ocean  
Where it's clear and it's deep  
Help the waves with their gentle motion  
Rock this child to sleep_

And Nicky calms and James leaves.

But when he comes back, Nicky isn't there. He doesn't come out again. Night after night James holds vigil alone, no buddy to help him breathe.

#

Nicky remembers when the night welcomed him, when it dappled his skin like mist, soaking away the jitters and nerves. Now, it hides knives and old ghosts, memories of failures and inadequacies and geeky "acting" that's too close to who he really is. He can't stand the way the shadows look at him, accuse him of spiraling down again, so he hides inside smoky rooms with lights too dim to cast any, that are easily fooled and bounce off the shell around his soul.

The night veils new ghosts as well, he notices, as he staggers from the taxi up the walk to his house late that evening. The blond who had helped him breathe when the air was clear and the stars blew lullabies. But he floated away and left Nicky untethered and too tangled up in his past to find that clear space again.

"Go 'way," he says as he stumbles by.

"Who?" whispers back at him.

And Nicky doesn't know if he means his light shadow, the one that helped, or the dark one.

The next night Nicky doesn't remember. And he doesn't see the other standing there. And he doesn't regret a single thing.

Not even when his ghost isn't there the night after that.

#

It isn't through the rumor mill that James hears about Nicky going into rehab. No, this time his old co-star makes a public announcement about it. James hears about it on E!

James understands the impulse to send the town criers to let the world know--to step out of shadows and into the light--still, he wishes it could be otherwise. That Nicky could have found help on his own. Or maybe with a solid shadow, breathing with him in the night.

The show ends. There are more parties James is required to attend.

He doesn't even stop to question what he's doing when he finds himself in Nicky's old neighborhood. Just waits until it's time, _that_ time, not the witching hour but the quiet one, when he slips into the street and strings shadows together, meandering in the darkness, hiding from everyone's sight, maybe even from himself.

That Nicky's sitting on the porch surprises him. He won't admit how much it pleases him, how the warm air suddenly melts into his skin, soaking in and gently prying open places he didn't know had grown shuttered.

He doubts Nicky sees him--his eyes are closed, and stay closed until he gets up to leave. Still, it feels good. Someone to breathe with.

It isn't until later that James realizes his mistake.

#

Nicky isn't sure that his ghost has returned when the familiar scent of clove winds its way through the trees. He wants it too badly. He has to look. He's positive he'll be disappointed again, but the temptation is too great, and Nicky was never the one with self-control.

Someone is there. Someone who feels the same, smells the same . . . but is no longer blond. The light is gone, replaced with a pelt, kind of like his own. The skin is still too pale though, the figure too skinny, a sticklike figure. It's as if his companion played at not being a real boy.

Like a ghost. Or a vampire.

Nicky remembers the pictures now, from the show that never wanted him. The publicized ritual "cut that place outta my hair."

It isn't James. It can't be James.

Nicky doesn't look. Not that night.

But when the ghost appears again the next night, this time with that trademark lollypop, Nicky knows.

#

James doesn't think about how his hair has changed until after Nicky goes inside.

Then he obsesses over it. All day.

Because if Nicky saw him, then Nicky knows. Knows that it's him.

Should he call Nicky? Should he confess? Should he go back? Should he stay away?

He paces and mutters and screams at his agent when she calls and nearly goes through three packs of nicotine gum.

What does James want? If he's honest, he wants more than what he has--a companion at night who isn't a yard away. Someone to breathe the same air as he does in the darkness, a warm and willing body to chase nightmares and career questions away.

But he'll take what he has, too. And so figuring that Nicky _does_ know, he takes the other thing that's sure to get him recognized.

It's cherry-flavored, and he doesn't want to consider the connotations of that at all.

#

The night air still feels the same on Nicky's skin, still soft and felted, moist from the ocean. The wash of cars from the interstate still sounds its constant hum, and the clouds still reflect the city lights with an orangish glow.

But there's a tension in the darkness that wasn't there before. He watches his visitor watch him, knows that he's watching even when the shadows hide his face, wonders what he sees, what he wants, why he's come back.

Why it feels so good to have James there, breathing in time again. Why he can't still his jangling nerves, can't find this quiet anywhere, anytime, else.

Nicky can't name the force that keeps them apart--but it's magnetic, repelling them, one from the other. They're too similar to cross the divide between them, alone, addicted, obtuse with need.

When it's too late, or too early, and he's shivering with the dew and a hint of dawn is peeking around the corner and he has to go inside, he finds he doesn't want to. He stands and walks to the edge of the porch and stares.

But it's as if there's a barrier that he can't cross, just off the end of the walk. It's like the air is too thick for him to pass through. Maybe they've sucked out all the oxygen in the space between them, sucked it down together, shared it with the peace they've built.

He wants to call out. To invite the other in.

He can't. Not tonight.

There will be other nights though. He swears as he turns and goes in the house. He will wear that air thin until shadows can cross over the threshold into the light, can come and be solid in his arms.

#

Less than a week later James is invited to another Friday night party.

This one is for Alexis and Alison.

Nicky will be there. Without a doubt.

James says he won't go, tells himself in the mirror every night that it's better this way, apart but still sharing. He tells himself that he'd walk away if Nicky ever did cross the yard, that he'd ignore Nicky if he called out, invited him across the threshold, into his home.

He knows better than to believe himself. He isn't that good at lying.

So he goes. And bumps into Nicky at the living room table, both reaching for the dip.

#

"Hi."

"Uh, hi, Nick."

"Didn't think you'd be here."

"Hadn't planned on it."

"Oh."

"But I had to come."

"Oh."

{silence}

"So, whatcha been up to?"

"Had some auditions. Played some gigs."

"Thought you quit the band."

"Yeah. It was time."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

{silence}

"Tony looks good."

"So does Alexis."

{They share a grin.}

"You try the meatballs?"

"Pretty bad, aren't they."

 _Twack._ Whispers. "You aren't supposed to say things like that. What ever happened to the nice Nicky?"

"Left him behind with all that other unnecessary crap."

"Oh."

{silence}

"You wanna get outta here?"

"Yeah."

#

The taxi drive to Nicky's place is smooth, the talk, sputtering, words catching on each other, snagging then spinning on their own. But the silence they have together is solid, steady, golden warm.

James wonders where Nicky's babble has gone, if he left it behind with the "other shit." Knows that directness can still be used for hiding, can be another cover for nervousness.

And inexperience.

James finds that the words he wants to ask, about first times and certainty, stay buried, hidden yet growing. Because as arrow-sharp and on target as Nicky's been, James still doesn't _know_. Maybe they're just going to sit together on Nicky's porch, breathing. Maybe they'll hang and watch some game.

Or maybe they'll end up in a darkness, where shadows can meet and touch and comfort each other.

They pause after they arrive, waiting together where James usually waits alone. He wants a cigarette, a sucker, _something_ to stuff the rising tide of nonsense that claws his throat, wanting to slip out. Clamps down hard, and manages only to say, "You sure?"

In response, Nicky holds out his hand.

James stares at it for a moment, a foreign, unexpected thing, out of place and time. Then he takes it, and lets Nicky pull him across the great barrier of the yard that he could never have navigated on his own.

#

Nicky doesn't know what he expected--possibly hesitation and stuttering, maybe flirting and long glances--but not this. Not this heat and attraction that cancels out the forces that had kept them apart. Not this yanking pulling thrusting _hardness_ that James overwhelms him with, using their joined hands to bring their bodies together as soon as the door is closed and Nicky flirtatiously tells him that they're alone for the whole weekend. Not the slurry that his spine turns into at that first sharp, biting kiss that threatens his sanity as well as his soul, drowning him in need and want and care. Not how the airless space that he keeps his heart wrapped in starts to thaw, warming the place where he keeps it sealed away from the scuffs and blows and pain that even just living causes.

They pull back at the same time, panting in time, still simpatico, and all that Nicky can think to say is, "You're here," and James replies, "I see you," and Nicky melts just a little more.

Now it's Nicky's turn to pull James close, turning them so he can lean against the other man, exchanging heat as intimately as they've exchanged breath, learning the other's taste and smell and textures and sounds, all the pieces that he's longed for since before they found a type of peace together.

Gentling his attack, Nicky finally lets the babbling out. "Want you. Here. Now. Want to outline you with my tongue. Want to make you real. Make me real. Then do it again."

James finally groans out a response. It starts as a rumble in his chest--Nicky wants to chase it, up and down that smooth muscled skin--and ends in words, "Bed? Now? Please?"

Nicky can't help but laugh, joyful that the want he feels is echoed, repeated, amplified. That there's a possibility that this shadow can turn into _his_ shadow, as close and unattachable.

#

James can't get enough of the heat and goodness that's Nicky. Of the giggles that come when he skims his hands too lightly over Nicky's ticklish sides. Of the warm cinnamon taste of Nicky's mouth, that just gets darker, more earthy, as he makes his way down Nicky's back, past the dip in his spine that already holds sweat that eases a thirst he didn't remember having. Of circling that spot _again_ while all he wants to do is plunge in so he can get one more whimper from Nicky.

Because there's a part of him that knows this can't last. Not because of Nicky, no, but because of him. Nothing this good lasts for him. It's just a dream that they will have months and years ahead of them, shadows on a cave wall, and he recognizes the needy fantasy for what it is.

He ruthlessly pushes down on that nagging voice even as he pushes his tongue deeply into Nicky's ass, the taste more bitter than sweet, and he focuses on the man under him. No matter how long this lasts, he'll have this to remember. And he'll make sure Nicky remembers too, make it so good that Nicky won't ever be able to forget, no matter how many pills or drinks he has.

Never forget his breathing buddy again, leave him by the sidewalk, alone with the night.

Nicky is ready sooner than James expects, (and they're really going to have to talk about experience and ex-lovers sometime soon, find out which rumors are true and which aren't.) James doesn't give Nicky a choice, just spoons up behind him, pushing in gently, slowly, making it all about first times and Nicky feeling good and cared for.

And James is never going to forget how Nicky threads his fingers through his, holding on for the ride, how his low moans braid together until their an almost constant rope of desire, tightening around both of them, how beautiful Nicky feels, squeezing around his dick, his skin dappled with sweat that makes sliding across it easier.

The buildup is slow, steady, and certain. Finally James starts to push with a little more thrust, Nicky pushes back a little harder, and James brings their tangled hands down to Nicky's cock, wanting to bring Nicky off before his own mind and body explode and he's left with just scraps of himself again.

But before he can get a tight grip on Nicky, he hears the words he's been expecting all afternoon.

"No. Wait."

And maybe he doesn't have to wait for an orgasm to fall to pieces.

#

Nicky smiles as his partner goes stock still. And maybe he's a shit for enjoying it a little, for needing to find out for certain that James really does care for him, but he's not that big a shit, so he doesn't draw it out.

"Want to come with you watching me. You promised. Make me real. Make _us_ real."

And just like that all the tension's gone and he can't help the whimper that comes with the feeling of being emptied as James pulls his cock out then he's pushed a little roughly to his back and he can't help the way he grins at James's expression.

"Want this to be real?" James growls as he pushes Nicky's legs up and apart.

"Want to feel this?" he asks as he slides in and then pauses as tiny moans escape from both of them.

"Want something to remember?" James whispers, his voice incongruously mild compared to the rapid thrusts that are splitting Nicky in half.

"Ugh--god--yes! Shit! James!" And now they're fucking, really truly fucking, and yet Nicky knows the gentleness is still there. It's in James's eyes, the way he sees him, only him. The way James flicks his gaze between Nicky's lips to his sweating hair to his panting chest and glistening cock, how James is outlining him with his look, cataloging all the different parts of Nicky when he's being fucked to an inch of his life.

Nicky wants this, _needs_ this too, this heat and want and lust and he has to show James that he isn't going to break and he wishes everyone would stop treating him as if he would and he isn't scared of this roughness either because he wants it all.

And for James to be the one giving it to him.

"I see you," he manages to force out of lungs that have just about given up breathing.

"And what else?" James demands.

But Nicky can hear that it isn't a _what_ James is asking about, but a who.

"You. See you. Want to see only you."

James stares down at him, his eyes wide and seemingly bottomless, then the gentleness snaps back into place and the thrusts grow sitckysweetslow and James kisses him, deep and long and Nicky is drowning again in all the emotion that's pouring off James, filling him with a peace that he'd only ever found when he was mostly alone, with only a shadow keeping guard across a great expanse of lawn.

The air between them thickens again, but this time they're both inside the bubble, breathing each other's breath, each panting against the other's mouth as they kiss and lick and murmur sappy things that Nicky knows he'll never deny. The thrusts grow ragged at the end, and James reaches down to make sure Nicky is there for the ride as they both come with the other's name on their lips.

#

Moonlight peeks through the slated windows, finds them wrapped around each other. James can't help the contented sigh that escapes him as he rubs his hand across Nicky's head, petting and soothing him through his sleep, trying to add a touch of sweetness to his dreams.

Nicky wakes, stirs, and smiles when he sees James still there.

"Hungry?"

That makes James give him a quick kiss.

"Naw."

"Whatcha doing awake?"

James can't tell him he was watching Nicky sleep, holding on for as long as Nicky will let him. So he shrugs, and it seems to be enough.

Nicky gets a look of concentration on his face, and James finds that he's fascinated by the way the emotions shift across that open plane, eyes finally in agreement with the rest of his expression, unlike the Nicky he remembers from the old days.

"Do you, ah, need to go out?"

For a moment, James is confused. He isn't some dog.

"In the night."

Ah. Now he gets it. Go out into the night, have the quiet there, breathe.

That makes him lean in and give Nicky another of the syrupy sweet slow kisses that he's already addicted to, cinnamon spicy Nicky taste swirling around his tongue, making his skin tingle and his chest hurt.

Spike wasn't the only one who was love's bitch.

"No, I prefer the view from up close. Don't you?"

Nicky nods his head and pulls James down for another kiss, the whispered, "Like seeing you," stroking his heart and forcing it open just a bit more, making the ache a little fiercer.

And they stay that way, closer than shadows cast by the bright moonlight, capturing each other's breath, trying to give each other a little peace in this new way, a way that they've never known about until now, now that they've both stopped just watching, now that they've crossed that barrier, out of the darkness and toward the light.

{end}


End file.
